The Dreadfang

Chapter VI:

I stared at myself in the toilet mirror, examining a gash Tolvast had carved into my belly during our last sparring session, and noticed my abs coming through after a mere three weeks of school. Dunhill's ways were beyond brutal.

"Sam!" Garrick called. "Hurry it up, we're gonna be late."

"Hang on," I hollered back. "Almost done."

It was hard to imagine how much my life had changed in the span of a few weeks. My mornings had once consisted of cleaning and preparing gardening tools. Now they were a muscle-breaking campaign. Three sets of a hundred push-ups, a nine-mile hike, another five-hundred sit-ups, and, of course, the popular ice bath. But my nights, instead of alone in front of my fireplace, were shared with friends over enough food and drinks to last a lifetime.

Tristan's back was to the class when we snuck into the room ten minutes late and crept to our seats.

"The Great Fire of New York in 1776 was caused by a blightmane, set loose by a supporter of the revolutionaries. The Order was able to dispose of both without too great a risk, but the chaos the fire spread was out of their grasp. It didn't end well for the British in 1783." The man turned around, and his eyes fell on the dwarf and me. "Ah, Sam. Garrick, glad you decided to join us!" His voice was fraught with sarcasm. "Tell me, what does the fire teach us?"

The dwarf grinned. "Not everything can be averted."

He had his smart moments.

Tristan feigned a smile. "Right you are. When prevention fails, containment becomes second and last."

*****

Though Dunhill's class was referred to as combat training, he didn't allow us any practice in the field. His foremost concern was with our bodies. By the end of the second semester he wanted us all as fit and agile as himself.

Then came his simulated missions: search and rescue, find and destroy, hunting and gathering. Even rugby and capture the flag, which were supposed to teach us teamwork.

We stood atop the shortest of a family of hills, endless drops of water pouring from the heavens and down upon our sore arms and chests, soaking our clothes and reaching into our undergarments.

"Assignment's simple as always," the professor said. "Groups of three. Find the flag, win the game. Use anything you deem necessary to outsmart your opponents. Just don't kill each other. We'll save that part for later."

It was our fourth time playing the game and our first with Abe as captain. We'd gone with the dwarf, the half-breed, and myself since the introduction of the sport – to the dislike of both Gwyneth and Grisara. The women then seduced Tolvast onto their team and went on to win the second game. Cold vengeance.

We, on the other hand, hadn't managed a single win. The first loss was due to Garrick's disregard of Abe's ability, the second due to my inability to lead, and the third we blamed on overconfidence. Harley, Bogin and Murgol, a trio of two humans and a dwarf, had grown dramatically in skill over the course of the weeks, and succeeded in outwitting us the last game – after we'd gotten rid of all the other teams for them.

We were allowed to use any means toward winning: laying traps, hiding and waiting it out, or even light violence. The trio had lured each of the teams into a war-zone, forcing upon us all the choice to either run or engage. And being as stubborn as we all were, keen on proving our worth, every team decided on the latter whilst the schemers slipped out of the chaos and secured the flag.

"I've a plan," Abe whispered.

"Spill," said Garrick.

"We use Bogin's trick against them," he said. "Sam, you track Gwyneth's team and lure them to Attinger's Grove. Garrick, you do the same with Bogin's."